


don't think we fit in at this party but now i think that we should stay

by mussings_over_tea



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: I DON'T CARE played during their washington run at every changover, M/M, also what do you mean stef's first kiss he talked about on one of his live, and hey i promised myself never to write for this dude for personal reasons, and this is their song and i take no questions, but hey they say it's healthy maybe it is it's calling things by their name, but it ended up being my usual deal with PINING, didn't happen in washington? ICAN'T READ gif, i've written a one shot CONFETTI IT'S A PARADE, yep it was supposed to be just lines of dialogues CRACK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mussings_over_tea/pseuds/mussings_over_tea
Summary: It's Nick's birthday and Stef has a marvellous idea. Or a prequel to that Greek Prank they both arranged.
Relationships: Nick Kyrgios/Stefanos Tsitsipas
Comments: 17
Kudos: 15





	don't think we fit in at this party but now i think that we should stay

Stef types on his phone. The clogs in his head wiring endlessly, maybe mirroring a beat of his heart in this particular moment. Even if he puts it on general excitement for being creative and doings Things ™. No other reason for him to have his hands clammy either.

And him pressing send with giddy hesitation, eyes instantly seeking that _delivered_ sign, it’s all syndromes of drinking too much coffee, for sure. Even if he never drinks one, that often, or maybe at all. Hmm.

The response is immediate and Stef’s heart betrays him by skipping a beat, exactly to the syllables of the words he’s reading, so trying to justify his biology going wired with abusing chemical substances he doesn’t even do, seems pointless.

Does he sound casually teasing or desperately seeking confirmation? Pft. Mostly, he hates communicating through sending letters and soulless messages with fake emojis replacing actual emotions. He’s hovering over videocall button, like an idiot. It’s been some time he saw this stupid face speaking his chewed-over words, eyes glinting with sarcasm ever so often. Like he’s never really serious. Like he always provokes you. And somehow, Stef thinks, he misses it all.

No.

Take that back.

He thinks of it fondly with a small degree of melancholy.

It’s not how this meme goes? Is he drunk? Or is he just being his usual juggling and reversing meaning of all things self?

Stef wishes he was a coffee addict and could put rapid spikes in his heartbeat onto the caffeine now spreading wildly in his system. But there is no caffeine in his system. No sir. Sadly. That’s all Nick. A vague message sent like that. The fact he’s responding immediately also a novelty to Stef. It almost never happens. Either he forgets to reply completely, or he does after so much time it’s no longer even relevant.

[Like that:

Nick drops out of the US Open before he replies and then the whole pizza thing becomes irrelevant because of the geography doing its thing. Typical.]

So him pressing that videocall button is more a panic reaction than following any melancholic urge.

“STEF. Stefanos. Mister Tsitsipas. Chaírete. Privet. Yo!” it’s dark in Nick’s room. It’s dark, period. There’s night where he is. There’s early afternoon were Stef is. That distance between them feels almost symbolic to Stefanos. When Nick talks to him from the future. When Stefanos responds from yesterday. There’s so little they have in common and yet. Here they are. Nick’s eyes creak with joy (or maybe he really is mostly drunk) and Stef can’t help but beam back/ That caffeine in his system from anxious beats turns to flutter lightness. Pft.

“Now, this is a verbal conversation, Nick. Now, this meme works.”

“Huh? You speak, my dude, and as always you could’ve spoke in Greek. Always a mystery to me, Stefanos. Mysterious Stefanos. You could start a new insta account with this name. Post Ikea wisdom there,” the words are slurred, sprinkled with thick accent and hoarseness of the tone and Stef can never entirely tell whether Nick is tipsy or just intoxicated with his own energy wiring him on into this creature of bubbly chattiness and colours.

He still asks.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” still beaming at the fact that Nick kept his yellow streak on his now long hair, sticking in every direction, long, messy and in a complete disarray.

“Not yet, my friend. But I’m getting there,” Nick raises a glass of wine into the phone camera and takes a gulp from it.

“Hmm. True. Cos It’s still a glass. Not a bottle. Classy and sexy,” Stef blurts out like a moron. Completely unnecessary choice of adjectives here. The familiarity between them always underlined with that undefined no man’s land. _Who are we? What are we? What is this? Is this allowed?_

Of course Nick picks it up. Gleam in his eyes from maybe, possible soft, becoming heated. From the booze? Or from something else?

“Haha, gotcha. You just called me classy and sexy, which, I’m gonna be using from now on as a compromising material,” Nick continues sipping his wine and chuckles in that bemused, snarky way, of knowing all your secrets, of knowing how stupidly fond of him you are.

“Pft, many people think that. It’s not some revelation, you know.”

“But maybe it’s important, coming from you, Stef,” his eyes peer from beneath the rim of the glass. Shining like beacons of the truth in that ridiculous darkness of his room. (So extra.) Or maybe Nick really is fucking tipsy and Stef is under the influence of whatever postures inside his system as caffeine and makes him act like a complete idiot.

“You’re drunk, you should go to sleep,” Stef hastily brushes the strange words off, as if they don’t linger on the line with poignant heaviness. Pft. Hormones and booze mistaken for moments. Isn’t this the millenials’ life in a nutshell.

“Not everyone has a small engine,” again, that mocking chuckle. Stefanos starts to regret he’s made that call to begin with.

“I have a big engine on court,” he sounds petulant like a toddler triumphing over winning a toy from a boy he plays with in a sandbox. Now he knows. Making that phone call was a mistake for sure.

“What does it even mean, bro?” Nick laughs.

“I don’t know, you started it,” Stef joins in and just like that they’re back to familiar. They’re back to safe. Because maybe defined. _Bros_ , is what Nick calls it. Okay.

“Anyway, you’re the first person that called, by the way. Always knew you had it deep for me, Stef,” Nick smirks over the rim of the glass, again, know-it-all bastard that possessed all secrets of the world, before he gulps the rest of the wine, as if baptizing the statement, sealing it as the truth.

“Yeah, I called with an idea. Is there any other reason I should be calling?” Stef provokes back, hating Nick’s smugness. Incapable of not giving in to its charm, either, though. The caffeine in his system continues to drum to the feverish beat.

“Yeah, with an idea to sing me “Happy Birthday” Marilyn Monroe style. You can include the dress, baby,” Nick winks and Stef gasps audibly at entertaining the vision in his head. Including the dress. Just for Nick to have something to unwrap him from. Jesus Christ. He’s being an idiot. A virgin idiot. He’s had that one kiss and all of a sudden he acts like he’s mastered the art of sexual awareness and erotic scenarios it fuels to the tee.

“In your dreams,” it’s a good thing some remnants of self control are still conscious in him and he stops himself from showing Nick his tongue.

“In my dreams there is no dress, Stef,” Nick sounds serious and promising and he pours another glass of wine, as if he’s preparing himself to drink to that, licking his lips in a very cliché manner. Maybe it’s the darkness in his room, the atmosphere of a tease to deliver, the longing they are all filled with, the distance the only known companion now. Maybe it’s the booze and hormones making him feel like he’s living through the moments, again. But they don’t speak. Nick’s looking at him, like he remembers. Why Stef’s filled with a heartbeat. Now.

And then, too.

And maybe always with Nick.

“A pity. That would have been a nice dress,” and there goes Stef, led astray by the longing.

“I’m listening,” Nick practically purrs, after having a gulp of that glass, looking like he hangs onto Stef’s every word like it’s something crucial. Essential to his life.

Stef doesn’t take the bait this time.

Nick is far away. Now, even more than ever.

Nick is always far away, with the way he talks, with the way he takes up the entire room with his presence, on court, with the music he listens to, with the relationships he has in his life. Stef builds foundations of homes to stay in. Nick builds bridges to have homes everywhere. Stef is the one travelling, sure. To collect pieces of the places he goes to, of human’s hearts, their experiences and keep them safe in his guarded soul. Nick leaves his mark on everyone he meets, so that they are never the same again, to disappear, to slip between their fingers as they are left pining, only star dust on their hands, a reminder.

Or maybe Stef is one of these people and his view is askew. Or maybe Stef will never be the same again, and never see Nick the same again, because he feels things, spreading with that erratic beating inside him and the warmth on his lips, a memory.

He touches his lips when he says. (Stupid, romantic, naïve, a child).

“I’m glad, I’m the first to call,” with hope. Like he dares to claim any rights. Like this matters. Means something.

“Me too,” Nick sounds melancholic. Stef thinks he brings himself closer to the screen of his phone. Maybe it does mean something, even if Nick’s voice has a slurred tone to it. And his expression looks sleepy and dazed. But maybe that’s when the inhibitions fall the most. “I miss playing FIFA with you, Stef,” Nick then adds, serious and intense. And that’s what brings Stef back. Always. That’s what makes him dare to assume. Sometimes this whimsical storm reveals himself to be a soft, spring breeze that caresses you with a promise of May that comes after the turmoil of winter.

Stef still nudges for more.

“But you’re terrible at FIFA, Nick.”

“I know,” Nick says matter-of-factly. Owning the in-between-the –lines confession. With eyes, true and fond.

It wasn’t about FIFA in Washington. It was about the back of the sofa digging into his spine as he clutched Nick’s shirt for balance, sinking deeper into softness, wetness of his mouth. Never knowing this before. Never understanding how he could deny himself this. It was about heavy breaths and moist whispers, dissolving on skin.

_Is this about distracting me to win?_

_Is it working?_

_Yeah. It’s working._

_Good._

It was about Stef being bold or needy or both, crawling onto Nick to learn more of him with his mouth. To know how his laughing eyes feel under his lips. And never ever forget it afterwards. And dream only of it afterwards.

_Can we do more?_

Stef’s wired at every point of contact. Stef’s relieved because he doesn’t have to know what to do, like he always thought he should. He feels and he responds, moving with Nick, like they do on court. There’s cracking energy. There’s strange belonging, too. Like it was meant to be? Pft.

_Stef. Stef. I’m no good for you._

Nick’s hand beneath Stef’s Tshirt, caressing his back, fingers digging into skin, and Stef arching to the touch like Nick writes a story on him he reads out loud with sighs, seem to say differently. Stef steals some more moments from Nick then. Drinks from his mouth, pliant and soft and eager and not oppressive at all. Before he lets the truth in. Before he lets Nick off the hook to go back to his safe ways.

_Chivalrous. Look at you. Defying all the expectations, through and through._

It’s meant to be ironic. And bitter. But Stef makes it sound casual, as they went back to the game, like nothing happened. Stef knows exactly what happened. Nick is ashamed. Nick is afraid. For a person who shines so bright with who he is and what he feels, he runs from the reveals, into safe places. Nick and his parties. Nick and his loud dudes. Nick and his girls. Nick and his booze and his attitude and his swag and his untouchable, asshole ways.

Stef understands. Stef doesn’t blame him. It’s safe. And he’s always had to struggle with enough pressure and demands as it is from his country and this sport. Stef won’t be adding to that.

Stef loses in Washington and they go their separate ways anyway. Remaining casual. Like nothing happened. Never bringing this back.

Until now.

So Stef has the courage to say. “I miss it, too.”

There’s silence that follows, that speaks with many unsaid things. What if Nick was braver, what if Nick knew better, what if they were different people? Haha. It all boils down to this, does it?

“Anyway, happy birthday, big dog!” Stef mocks the American accent (fails spectacularly) and makes his voice sound like he’s a part of Nick’s pack, walking out of the club or a concert, freshly after yet another celebration.

“Jesus, Stef, don’t,” Nick chuckles, even if it takes few moments for a melancholy to scatter from his expression. “Better hit me with that idea of yours, mister artist.”

Stef does. All the while he does he’s giddy and excited. Surprised, too. There is no confusion. No shock on Nick’s face. Nick shakes his head with a small smile growing wider and wider and eyes laughing at Stef with the same fondness when Stef babbled to him about the way light changes the perception of the viewers as he was recording ants by the nearby court travelling with food storage back to their kingdom. Back then, when they met for the first time. Stef was in juniors, thought he sounded so squeaky next to this low rumble of Aussie vowels, offered Greek lessons and couldn’t stop thinking about the way Nick’s eyes smile before his face does and how lovely he is then. Or maybe in general in the end.

Nick smiles now like he does then. Like he knows Stef and admires him. Admires his courage. Always had. Having plenty of his own. But in the end not enough for them to be _them_.

“The bar is so high, Stef, and yet you continue to raise it, you crazy bastard,” now the smile is on his mouth and in his words, too and Stef feels that hammering beat inside him turn to regular staccato and the lightness flutters with recognition.

Belonging.

“So you’re in? And you’re not saying it only because you’re drunk and your inhibitions are down and you’re willing to do things because you’re loose and stupid then?”

“Oh, Stef, spoken from the experience of someone who had one tiny glass of vodka, yeah?” back to mocking. Back to safe.

“I’m sorry mister I graduated from the University of Drinking Masters and I know all booze things,” this time Stef’s self control is not anchored enough for him not to show Nick that tongue.

“You’re an idiot,” the laughter never goes away from his face and Stef curses himself a bit for how proud it makes him feel.

“Takes one to know one,” and it’s infectious and for a moment they just smile at each other in recognition. And Stef feels an ache that follows the flutter inside him. Of not having this. Of not being able to have this for God knows how long. Hear this rumble of Nick’s voice close, his obnoxious chortles, the nudges of his hand, him lingering always so close, like he is with you with his entire self, _when_ he is with you. No half measures. Him devoted with himself entirely to you. Before a star dust is all that remains. 

Then again, he never really did have this to begin with, so no point missing something that was never yours anyway.

“Are we doing this then?” he repeats and maybe in another life he’s asking about something else. Asking Nick to be brave for _them_.

After a beat, Nick nods “Yeah, we’re doing this,” firm and unrepentant. Like maybe they don’t need another lifetime. Like maybe by agreeing, Nick finds the courage in the end. A piece of it, for now. And it’s a first step on this new path to semblance or wholeness of _them_?

**Author's Note:**

> *uhm, yep this is how greek people pine  
> *it's elaborated view on nick's entire monologue about stef in THAT INFAMOUS podcast he did with ben rothenberg (my god so much juice there, this boy be an open book and yet and yet I AM BREAKING MY BRAIN ON IT)  
> *also yes Stefanos' first kiss was with Nick and this is canon, and y'all have to deal


End file.
